


sick of the static voice

by snakebitehearts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, High School AU, Idiots in Love, Kinda, M/M, ever wanted to read a fic that sounds like how sunday feels, this is for you!, underage alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakebitehearts/pseuds/snakebitehearts
Summary: Nate's had this fog in his head since he met Mikey. He doesn't really remember a time without it.or, Nate can't think.





	sick of the static voice

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: IF YOU ARE OR KNOW SOMEONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY, PLEASE CLICK AWAY. This is a work of fiction. No slander or anything of the sort is meant by the author. Any true events in this story are public knowledge. The rest is 100% fiction and any truths are a coincidence. 
> 
> i hate hate hate sundays, so i wanted to do something productive today. so i wrote a fic that captured the essence of my sundays. unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> title from white noise by pvris. listen to all we know of heaven, all we need of hell if you really want the fic feeling. 
> 
> real proud cause up until this point i'd never topped a 1200 word count. i wish i could write long fic lol. 
> 
> i love these boys im sorry i project my dumb feelings on them.

 

They meet when they’re eight. Nate’s hair is too long, brushing by his eyes. He has a crooked smile and warm eyes and his mom tells him he looks like a nice kid. Nate hopes she’s right.

He’s adjusting his skates, double-knotting his laces when he sees a shadow in his peripheral.

A tall boy with brown hair had stepped up to him and held out his hand.

“I’m Michael, but you can call me Mikey!” He smiled, his grin missing a few teeth. Nate thinks he looks pretty anyways.

“I’m Nate,” He replies, shaking the other boy’s hand.

Mikey’s hands are warm. So is his smile. The ice is cold, but Nate doesn’t notice that day. It’s hazy. It’s not usually hazy. Nate feels cloudy on the inside. It’s not bad, though. Just like everything’s  blurred a bit.

He scores a couple times in practice that day, Mikey’s smile a fitting enough award. The fog inside stays, but he breathes easier when Mikey looks at him.

-

“Bryant or Machado?” Mikey asks him, feet kicked up onto Nate’s lap.

“Neither,” Nate answers, letting a hand fall loosely around Mikey’s ankle as they watch the Jays game. “Arenado.”

“Fair enough,” Mikey replies, flexing his foot under Nate’s grip. He has his Calc homework on his lap, asking Nate for help every once in a while.

Nate smirks to himself, Mikey’s attention shifted back to the assignment. Donaldson gets a hit, knocks in two runs. The August air is warm under Nate’s skin, open windows causing his clothes to stick to his skin.

Mikey’s ankle is warm under his hand. He can hear him saying something, happy about the hit. Nate can’t tell what, feeling like he’s swimming in his own head. It’s muggy through his whole body, but he doesn’t mind it. Today, at least.

He’s happy. He hopes Mikey is too. He wishes they were happy together, but he’s okay for now. 

-

Mikey’s arms are tight around Nate’s waist. He’s yelling into his ear, something along the lines of ‘fucking beauty’ and ‘you fucking did it’. Nate doesn’t realize what he did for a minute, so finely tuned to the stream of  _ mikey mikey mikey  _ in his head.

It registers in a flood. The ice, cold deep in his bones though he feels flushed. He can hear cheering. People in the stands yell down at them, the rest of his teammates coming to celly. He recognizes the feeling of Mikey in his arms. He wonders when he did that.

He’s still floating, almost dazed, until the trophy is passed into his hands. It’s real, then, winning the championship. Their high school is the best in the province at hockey. Nate won the game in overtime.

They take photos. Nate doesn’t know if they’ve stopped, yet. In his defense, there were a lot of photos. Mikey is pressed along side of him in all of them. He thinks he’s imagining the heat through two layers of pads between them.

-

They get spectacularly drunk later that night, once their parents and coaches leave them be at Dyl’s house.

Nate stays on the better half of buzzed for most of it. He doesn’t like drinking all that much, as the fogginess in his head makes him seem drunker than he is. He nurses a couple beers, watching as his teammates get more and more tipsy until they tip over the line.

(Dylan tries to force him into shots. Nate agrees on one, drunk Stromes being pretty easy to appease. He dumps it into Dylan’s mouthwash, as a friendly ‘fuck you’.)

Mikey, however, is on the verge of walking no longer being an option. He's stumbling across the basement as his slurred words become impossible to understand.

Unsurprisingly, Nate is the one who is forced to deal with Mikey. It’s not a challenge, though, as Mikey plants himself in Nate’s lap around midnight.

“Nate! You did it!” Mikey tells him, at least the 20th time that night.

“We did it, Mikey. 10 years in the making,” Nate says, wrapping his arms around Mikey to sturdy him.

Mikey smiles back at him, happy and dazed and so cute Nate’s heart hurts. The fog, which Nate had already been swimming in all night, is back in full force. Nate’s ears feel clogged.

Gibby comes over, clapping Nate on the back before launching into conversation. Mikey adjusts, head in Nate’s lap and legs kicked up onto the couch. Nate runs his hand through Mikey’s hair out of instinct, the other holding a half empty beer.

The conversation lasts for a while, people coming and going as the topics change. Nate doesn’t take his hand out of Mikey’s hair. Once Gibby leaves and Dyl is verging closer and closer to sticking his tongue down Merks’ throat, Nate makes an executive decision to leave.

“Mike, Mikey, time to go buddy,” Nate gently grabs Mikey by the shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position. He pulls Mikey’s coat over his shoulders before grabbing his own. Nate tries to get Dylan’s attention to say they were leaving, but it’s hopeless at that point.

The air outside is cold, wind biting at Nate’s ears. He pulled his beanie over Mikey’s head before they left. Nate lets himself into Mikey’s house and he luckily doesn't have to worry about making too much noise. The Mcleods left immediately after the championship game for Ryan’s games the next day.

“Are you staying?” Mikey asks as Nate helps him out of his shoes and upstairs.

“Sure, bud. Ryan won’t mind if I sleep in his bed, will he?” Nate questions back, more focused on trying to get all 185 pounds of Mikey up the stairs.

“No, Nate. Just stay in my bed. State winner deserves better than Ryan’s dumb room,” Mikey stumbles a little, but Nate manages to get him into his room anyway.

He helps Mikey out of his jacket and jeans, getting him into bed and tucking him in.

Nate can feel the cloudiness in the back of his head but answers, “Yeah, sure,” anyway. “Let me run downstairs real quick and I’ll be right back.”

He fills two glasses of water and some ibuprofen for Mikey when he gets up tomorrow. He takes his time coming back upstairs, not wanting to spill anything. Mikey’s passed out when he gets to his room, so he sets the glasses down on the bedside table.

He uses the bathroom and shucks out of his jeans before getting into Mikey’s bed. He pulls the covers up and rolls over onto his side, facing Mikey.

Mikey shuffles back, seeking the warmth from Nate’s body. Nate can feel his breath hitch, but lets his arm fall around Mikey’s waist anyway. It’s nothing they haven’t done before.

Nate’s sleepy, still warm and buzzed inside, but he can’t find sleep. The haziness in his head is always the worst when he touches Mikey, and now it’s been kicked into overdrive.

So he just holds onto Mikey as the sun starts to rise, marking the real beginning of the Sunday. Nate falls asleep eventually, white noise filtering in his head.

-

He wakes up, not too warm per se, but his head is pounding. It doesn’t hurt, just the way it feels when it’s too full.

Mikey’s still limp in his arms, chest rising and falling in time with his soft breaths. Nate allows himself to wonder for a while.

He doesn’t know how much time passes exactly, but Mikey shifts eventually, soft light filtering through the windows onto his skin.

Nate knows he can’t pass of still being asleep, so he just waits until Mikey turns around eventually.

“Hey,” Nate says, his voice strained so it comes out more of a croak. Mikey smiles, but winces immediately afterward.

“There’s ibuprofen on the table,” Nate tells him, loosening his grip on Mikey’s waist. Mikey turns back and gulps down the water and medicine, moving back into Nate’s grip soon after.

“Hey Nate,” Mikey breaks the silence after a few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“We’re champions,” Mikey replies, flipping over to face Nate, shit-eating grin on his face.

And Nate, he just… He’s been so cloudy for  _ so long.  _ It’s been overcast in his head since he met Mikey ten years ago, all toothless grin and soft hair. Nate hasn’t seen clearly – been clear – even, since he was a kid.

Mikey’s here, and he’s in Nate’s arms and all Nate can feel is the leaden weight of caring in the back of his mind. He wants to be light, for once.

He surges forward, pressing his lips to Mikey’s. He’s expect to wait for – something. Whether it’s a pushback, or just a moment’s hesitation, he’s ready for it.

But he doesn’t get it.

Mikey’s response is instant, kissing back just as hard as Nate, maybe more. Nate can already feel it, the pressure clearing from his head. Mikey fists his the front of his shirt, pulling him ever closer.

Nate’s losing himself in Mikey. He deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue along Mikey’s lower lip. He’s breathless, but he can  _ breathe _ and that’s the thing he can’t get over.

They pull apart eventually, reddish marks peppered down Mikey’s neck, and Nate feels like the floor is swept out from under him.

Mikey is  _ beautiful _ .

Nate’s known this, known it since they met, but without the haze in front of him, he feels like he’s seeing Mikey for the first time. His eyes are so fucking blue, bright and clear and cold and Nate feels like he’s drowning in them. It beats his own head by far.

Nate reaches out, runs his hand along Mikey’s cheek, and he can feel tears welling in his eyes.

“What?” Mikey asks, concern flicking across his face.

Nate laughs, easy and light.

“You’re just… so fucking beautiful man. Like, the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Nate’s saying before he can stop himself, cheeks flushing.

Mikey matches him though, turning his own respectable shade of red.

“Don’t be a sap, dude,” He mutters, but he’s smiling, and Nate’s just so happy.

It’s weird, that a Sunday is the day where he stopped feeling like he was living in endless Sundays.

He has energy, weird amounts of it now, like he never has to face responsibility again. He would do anything as long as he can keep Mikey by his side now.

Nate takes Mikey’s face back into his hands, connecting their lips again. Nate could spend the rest of his life in this moment. He would if he could.

Instead, he cherishes it while it lasts, the softness of the morning. Nate has plans for later, things to see without the fog in his eyes.

He plans to take Mikey with him.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i'm on tumblr @sorrynotsaros if you want to talk about these dummies (or anything, really)
> 
> i don't know how state championships work in canada so i just kinda guessed. sorry if it's spectacularly wrong.
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoyed!


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